Nico's Story - featuring Reyna and Coach Hedge
by WordsCannotDescribeMe
Summary: What happened, exactly, on that long journey to deliver the Athena Parthenos to Camp Half-Blood? Did Reyna and Nico bond, or grow farther apart?
1. Chapter 1

Nico di Angelo had a slight issue with sisters.  
Bianca had always bossed him around, chastising him when he didn't do what told. Hazel, sweet as she was, tended to have her nose in his business quite frequently. And although he loved and missed them dearly, a small part of him was fed-up with siblings.  
Reyna wasn't helping the cause.  
As the two of them trekked through the thick foliage of the Rocky Mountains, she would constantly speak up, instructing Nico on which path to take and which animals not to touch, as if searching for food and water was some big, important mission. They'd left the Athena Parthenos with Coach Hedge to look after, though there wasn't much doubt in Nico's mind that the old goat was probably sleeping rather than guarding, so the faster they finished up their task, the better.  
"This way," Reyna said, pointing downhill to a small stream. "We should clean up while we can, refill the water bottles."  
Reyna looked no better than Nico did; her dark hair, usually in a neat braid, was tangled like a bird's nest, giving her a wolf-like complexion. Her face was worn-down with exhaustion, fierce mask gone, leaving two sad eyes, chapped lips, and gaunt cheeks. Her clothes–a camouflage tank-top and jeans–were tattered and coated with mud. Her olive-ish skin was tinted gray.  
"Are you sure?" Nico asked quietly. "Last time we encountered a river, we almost drowned and lost all our stuff."  
"That wasn't my fault," Reyna retorted, shooting him a venomous look. "Besides, this is a brook, and it's not even half as deep and fast-moving. If one of us falls in, the worst that can happen is we'll need new clothes. Would you rather get a little wet or die of thirst?"  
Nico didn't speak up again. There was no use in arguing with Reyna–she was so blunt, so unexpressive, and she'd probably throttle you if you tried. He admired that of her, but sometimes, it was a real pain.  
So they knelt by the crystal water, unscrewing the caps to the four large bottles they had and dipping them in. Once they were all filled to the rim and the caps were tightened back on, Nico lowered his hands into the brook, the iciness of the water prickling his skin, and scrubbed off as much filth as he could, even the dirt buried underneath his fingernails. Then he cupped his palms and brought the liquid to his face, splashing himself a couple times. The blast of coolness made him more alert, woke up his senses a little more. And even though it wasn't entirely sanitary after he'd just washed off, he couldn't help sipping a little of the freshwater right from the stream. When he sat up and raised his head, gazing at the clouded sky, a moan he couldn't hold in escaped his lips. Reyna chuckled.  
"My, aren't you a big fan of water," she teased from a few feet away, trying her best to smooth down her hair. Nico blinked at her. It was so unusual having another person with him–an actual, living being, smirking at him–that he'd forgotten she was there; as he'd done before, many times.  
Reyna's smirk wavered. "Well, might as well get as much of it as you can. We probably won't run into water this clear for a while."  
_We._ The word sent shivers down Nico's spine. Despite himself, he felt the corners of his mouth tugging upward. It was nice to have someone with him, even if they weren't much more than a stranger. He was so accustomed to being alone, it never occurred to him how reassuring another human–demigod; whatever–by his side could be.  
Reyna stood, patting the grass from her legs and gathering two of the bottles. The cold water seemed to do her good, too; her eyes were wider, ears more open. That gave Nico a sense of security he couldn't help–that she was here, and real, and his ally.  
"Let's go. Who knows what'll happen to the Parthenos if we leave it Coach's hands too long," she said without much humor, some of the weariness returning to her eyes. Nico tore his gaze from her and looked one more time at the babbling brook. He could faintly make out his reflection in the clear water, his black hair tousled and grim eyes staring back at him. He wanted to stay there, beside the brook, and look forever in the waters, to see what else he could find in them. But Reyna was right. They had to keep moving; they had to get the Athena Parthenos to Camp Half-Blood to prevent a war between them and Camp Jupiter.  
So before he knew it, he was up and moving, returning to the Parthenos with the other two bottles in his arms, leaving the brook behind.


	2. Chapter 2

"Where ya been, cupcakes?"  
Nico glared at Coach Hedge, who was lounging on a log a foot or two from the Parthenos, furry goat legs crossed and hands folded behind his head, grinning stupidly. The Coach wasn't really any help since they'd left–all he did was nap and eat up their snacks–but Nico didn't dare suggest he turn back. After all, Coach was pretty experienced with combat. They might need him later on. Besides, Nico felt bad for the guy. He'd had it as rough as any of them, even if he didn't show it.  
"Scavenging," Reyna replied drily. "And you really shouldn't be mocking us when all you've done is sit around and eat."  
"Not true! I've been disposing of our unneeded trash." He crumpled a bit of tinfoil and tossed it in his mouth. Nico shuddered.  
"Whatever, Hedge. Nico and I are getting some shut-eye. Since you seem to be well-rested, take first watch," Reyna ordered, her tone laced with acid.  
"Hey, respect your elders, young lady!" Coach said, pouting. Reyna's lip curled, as if she'd tasted something sour. Clearly, she didn't much favor the idea of Coach tagging along, either; and she didn't bother hiding it.  
Nico settled down between Coach and the Athena Parthenos, resting his head on his sheathed sword. The ground was rough beneath him, moisture seeping through his clothing, and he wasn't entirely comfortable with leaving the Parthenos in the hands of Coach Hedge twice in one day–thing was a monster beacon, and if Coach dozed off again, it was bad news–but eventually fatigue overwhelmed him, his worries drifted, and he fell asleep.  
When Nico aroused a few hours later, the sky was dark and twinkling with stars. Reyna was awake, feeding twigs to a campfire, her legs hugged to her chest and chin resting on her knees, eyes solemn as she stared at the dancing flames. Once she noticed him, she straightened, but her face was still sunken.  
"How long have you been up?" Nico asked.  
"Couple hours," Reyna responded, her voice a tired rasp.  
"You should've woken me. I could've taken over."  
"That wasn't necessary. You need sleep. And I'm fine."  
But she didn't seem fine. The bags under her eyes were noticeable from yards away. Her eyelids kept drooping. She looked as if she might collapse any second.  
"You're not," Nico said matter-of-factly. "You need rest as much as any of us. Go to sleep. I'll take the next shift."  
"Nico–"  
"Don't bother arguing, because I won't listen. _Go to sleep._ You need it."  
Reyna pursed her lips, but she didn't protest again. She laid her head in her arms, curling up near the campfire like a kitten–not exactly the sleeping position Nico would expect from a Roman leader, but who was he to judge?  
Reyna drifted off just as her eyes closed, her body un-tensing. Her pale face looked ghostly in the firelight, wan and a little dirty, but the shape of her head was still nice–round, oval; it made her appear older than she actually was. Her lips were parted, corners tugged up as if she were having a pleasant dream, and waves of brown hair framed her features like a painting. In the darkness, without her scowl and fiery determination in her eyes, Nico could almost believe she was just another ordinary teenager. But something about her appearance alarmed him–her hair seemed darker in the dim light, almost black, and she looked smaller, younger. She resembled someone a little too closely–Bianca.  
Nico jerked his head away, his eyes prickling, and blinked. He waited for something to happen, something to jolt him out of his agonizing memories and back to reality, but the rest of the night was painfully silent.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day was announced by the streaks of orange tearing across the sky. Reyna was already up when pink light was dripping through the leaves, stomping on the embers of the campfire to put it out, spitting on it for good measure. She gathered most of their things–the large sack of clothes and food, her sword, and one water bottle–while Nico shouldered his smaller backpack, fastened his Stygian iron sword in its sheath around his waist, and took the remaining bottles. That left the Athena Parthenos.  
In the soft light, the giant statue definitely looked godly–the growing sunlight gleamed off its marble structure, and it towered above Nico, the bottom bathed in shadows and the face of Athena shimmering. It had brought Nico and Reyna so much trouble; if they lost it, that was it. Their journey was over, and a war would likely spark between the camps. Not to mention Percy. He'd fallen into Tartarus with Annabeth because of the thing...  
"Nico?" Reyna said, jarring him back to the present. He jerked his attention to her.  
"Yes?"  
"Ready?"  
He stared at her, before he realized she meant their very inconvenient form of travel. Frankly, he was still exhausted from yesterday's distance, despite the hours of sleep he'd gotten. And the Parthenos, plus Reyna and Hedge–it added to his burden. He wasn't sure if he could handle much more before he fainted altogether.  
"Yes," he responded. "Of course."  
Nico couldn't afford to let more people down, to fail another mission. He'd been nothing but a troublesome weight to everyone over the past few years. It was time he succeeded in a quest of his very own–and something as mundane as feeling sleepy wasn't going to stop him.  
Reyna arched her eyebrows skeptically, but fortunately for her, she knew not to push.  
"Okay," she said, zipping up her coat. "Wake Hedge, will you? Lazy faun's been sleeping all morning."  
"Once a Roman, always a Roman," Nico teased with a strained smile. Reyna sneered, but he could see a glint of humor in her eyes. It was nice to joke, forced as they were, to loosen the tension.  
He meandered over to Coach, who was snoring under the branches of a pine, drool sparkling in his goatee, and, as lightly as he could, kicked him in the stomach.  
It was Nico's classic way of waking others–asserting himself, jolting them awake quickly while quietly letting them know to not fool around. Coach bolted upright, his eyes snapping open in alarm and frantically scanning the landscape, then closing with a rough sigh.  
"Do you have to wake me up like that _every_ time?" he whined.  
"As long as you keep oversleeping, yes," Nico replied wryly. "Pack your things. We're leaving in five minutes."  
"Man, why can't we stay here for a little while! It's so nice!"  
"We have things to do, Hedge," Reyna jumped in. "Get the Parthenos to this camp of yours. Stop a potential war. We have no time for horsing around."  
"Who said anything about horsing around? Just a few naps, maybe a couple rounds of charades–"  
"_No,_" Nico and Reyna hissed in unison. Coach crossed his arms, his lip curling into a pout.  
"You two are no fun," he grumbled, stuffing a few dozen apples and tin cans into a cloth satchel.  
Nico surveyed the mountainside–dense layers of forest stretched for miles, an occasional cabin peeking through the branches, nothing more than a brown dot in the distance. Here, they were sheltered by the trees, and the thick smell of nature covered their demigod scent. They hadn't encountered a single monster for days.  
But their next stop was Georgia, back into civilization, with hundreds of people and houses and neighborhoods; more monsters, more lives at risk, more chances at failure. But they were _so close_–Georgia, then New York, then Camp Half-Blood. Assuming they arrived in time and alive with the Athena Parthenos, the two camps would no longer be at war.  
Nico would finally succeed at something.  
He clung to that thought as he dragged in a breath of crisp mountain air, closed his eyes, and imagined darkness around him, wrapping around him like a mummy, sticking to him like glue. As he summoned the shadows, a frigid coolness pricked his skin like a needle, and the wind picked up, swirling around him like a tornado. No sooner than he started drifting away, a hand grabbed his, but he recognized the calluses of Reyna's brittle fingers and kept his eyes tightly shut. He could only assume Coach was with her.  
Then the ground disappeared beneath him, the air thinned to almost nothing, and he was swirling through a vortex of darkness, cold, and noise. Wails split through the air, rattling Nico's mind, and once in a while, what felt like a hand brushed his arm, sending a shiver of electricity up his spine. But he was accustomed to the horrors of shadow-traveling. It was Reyna who was tightening her grip on Nico's wrist, most likely to disguise the trembling of her hand. She'd only shadow-traveled a few times, and that was hardly enough to get used to the eeriness of it. Even a Roman praetor, Nico realized, could barely handle the power of Hades.  
When the cold and noise subsided and darkness melted into daylight, Nico opened his eyes. They were exactly where they needed to be–a green banner reading _Welcome to Atlanta, Georgia_ in bubbled letters hung directly over their heads. Glancing backwards, he spotted Reyna, sweat glinting off her brow, and Coach Hedge, panting and clutching his chest. All their supplies were with them.  
He couldn't so much as smile before he collapsed, exhaustion weighing down every muscle and tendon, his heart racing. Reyna rushed towards him, helping him to his feet and resting his arm across her shoulders for support. Nico leaned into her, nearly knocking her down, and she struggled to straighten, her own body quivering.  
"Hedge!" she called out through gritted teeth. "Could use a little assistance!"  
Coach hobbled over to them, still gasping for oxygen, and took Reyna by the forearm, lifting her.  
"Gets me every time," Coach said as his breath returned to him. Reyna regained her posture, and Nico's own pulse started to slow. He looked around, taking in the shops and businesses, the parlors and restaurants. They'd made it.  
Although he hardly had time to celebrate before a scream pierced the air.


	4. Chapter 4

Reyna took off without second thought, her slim body swaying as she sprinted down the street. Coach started after her, but Nico held up his arm, stopping him in his tracks.  
"You need to stay here, to guard the Parthenos." He nodded at the statue.  
"Aw, come on! All I do is sit and guard!" Coach protested.  
"You _have_ to. Just until Reyna and I come back. Don't let it out of your sight."  
With that, Nico rushed down the sidewalk, pushing past citizens and winding around streets. He caught a glimpse of Reyna around the corner of a building, running like a mountain lion, her sword gripped firmly in her hand. Nico unsheathed his own Stygian iron sword, the metal glinting black in the sunlight. He pumped his legs as quickly as he could, struggling to catch up with Reyna, his pulse thumping in his ears, until they rounded another corner into a children's playground. There, crushing a swing-set under its weight, was a Hydra–and by far the largest one Nico had ever spotted. About the size of an elephant, with a plump body cloaked in gray-tan scales, and on top of that, four hissing heads with forked tongues and beady black eyes.  
The kids around the monster screamed, running away in laughter as if it was a game of tag. The Hydra roared–a horrible mucus-filled gurgling that sent tremors through the ground–and staggered forward, toward the children.  
"Hey!" Reyna called, holding two fingers to her lips and whistling. The Hydra whipped around, fixing the eyes devoid of light on her and Nico, its green lips curling into a snarl. The creature opened its jaws, breathing outward, sending a plume of hot-red fire coiling toward them. Nico instinctively fell to the earth, the air boiling above him, his eyes squeezed shut and breath held as sweat formed on his forehead. Once the heat died down, he pushed himself to his feet, opening his eyes and glancing around. Reyna stood a couple feet away, the tips of her bangs singed off, the skin of her nose a light pink. Around them, the playground was in flames, the monkey bars charred and wooden playhouse reduced to ashes. A ring of fire encircled them, forming a barrier between them, the beast, and the kids, who were shrieking playfully outside the destruction.  
Nico's sword felt hot in his hand. He tightened his grip on the leather handle, meeting Reyna's eyes, a silent agreement passing through as she shook her head slightly. _Not yet._  
The Hydra growled and paced, as if impatient. Nico knelt down, cautiously taking a burnt rock in his fingertips, the heat pricking his skin. He reeled his arm back, careful not to draw attention, and in one, swift motion, stepped forward and released. The stone sailed through the air, smacking the Hydra's left eye, sending it stumbling backward, roaring in outrage, smoke hissing from its flared nostrils.  
_Now._  
Nico charged, raising his sword and shouting Ancient Greek curses. Reyna did the same, her mouth open in a snarl, brown hair flying in a tangled mess behind her. Together, they attacked, Nico slicing at the Hydra's fat belly while Reyna jabbed at its back. The monster flailed, whipping its heads around furiously, venom dripping from the four pairs of fangs. Unfortunately, their assault seemed to only aggravate the thing–and once it stopped jolting back and forth, it lowered two of the heads and swung, one of them hitting Nico square in the chest, sending him tumbling backwards. The second slammed into Reyna, knocking her off her feet and rolling into the remnants of a slide. Nico looked up, his mind fuzzy, just as another volley of fire was launched, nearly turning him into a barbecued son of Hades. He ducked just before the flames reached him; never had he more wished to have Leo Valdez here, with his fire immunity and endless toolkit.  
As he opened his eyes, his vision blurry from the heat, he spotted Reyna struggling to get to her feet, her eyes sizzling with anger. She raised her sword, charging the monster, her teeth gritted and eyes narrowed in furious determination.  
Nico realized a little too late–Reyna had never fought a Hydra before.  
"Wait!" he yelled, just as her sword sliced through the thickness of a single neck. The head fell, fangs and all, face frozen in a snarl. Green ooze dripped from the stub, forming a pool of slime around Reyna's feet. She grinned and looked up at Nico, her cheeks smeared with ash.  
"How's that?" she called. Nico shook his head in response, his eyes fixed on the stub, the ooze mutating into a ball. His jaw fell as a head was formed, then split into two, five heads in total now glaring at them with even beadier eyes. Reyna's grin faltered as the Hydra hissed behind her, yellow fangs glinting in the firelight.  
"When you cut a Hydra head off, two more grow in its place," Nico explained as Reyna turned, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, her grip on her weapon loosening. Something about her expression made Nico's skin crawl–her dark eyes shone with fear as she glanced around hopelessly, like a lost puppy. For once, the great Reyna, praetor of New Rome, didn't have a plan. She had no idea how to defeat this monster.  
But she caught herself in an instant, and the glimpse of weakness was gone.  
"Well, how do we kill it, then?" she demanded, her lips pursed and sword lifted. Nico considered this, the Hydra letting out another impatient growl.  
"Fire. If we catch some of it, we can use it to burn the stubs. Then the heads won't grow back."  
"And _how_ are we supposed to catch fire?" The Hydra crouched down as if preparing to pounce, a plume of smoke spiraling from its nostrils.  
"You figure that out. I'll distract it."  
Without hesitation, Nico surged forward, his fingers wrapped firmly around the hilt of his sword. The Hydra moved, staggering on its large feet, snapping at Nico as he ran. He pumped his legs as quickly as he could, then jumped, leaping onto the beast's leathery back. The Hydra shrieked–a horrible bird-like noise–and bucked, rocking back and forth like an angry bull. Nico grabbed onto the dry, scaly skin, digging his fingernails into the spine as the creature flailed, threatening to rocketing him into orbit. He released one hand, nearly losing his grip, to raise his blade and sink it into the fiend's flesh. The Hydra screeched and lurched forward, Nico's hand ripped from its hold, sending him flying through the smoky sky. He landed on the stone pavement, hard, pain boiling in his spine.  
Nico let out an involuntary cry, grinding his teeth, then turned on his side, squinting his eyes to see through the haze. He could just barely make out the silhouette of Reyna, her own blade slicing through two heads with ease.  
He pressed his palms to the ground, struggling to stand, nausea sweeping through him when he got to his feet. Red tinged his vision as he stumbled forward, tripping over his own shoes. The image of the battle cleared through the smoke–Reyna and the Hydra locked in combat, green ooze gushing from various wounds in the monster, fire being launched and swords swung. Just as Nico took his weapon in hand, the Stygian iron blade chipped, another set of flames was sent flying, aimed directly at Reyna's face. But this time, Reyna raised something–a large slab of splintered wood, probably from disembodied play structure. Immediately the wood caught fire, missing Reyna by a centimeter, and she chucked it at the four neck stubs. They went up in flames, the Hydra's entire body crumpling, one remaining head spitting venom as it went down.  
As the monster transformed into dust and dissipated into the wind, Nico un-tensed, inhaling the toxic air–then doubled over in a coughing fit, bringing his hand to his mouth as he hacked, his lungs withered like dead flowers. When he straightened, Reyna was at his side, her hand on his shoulder.  
"You okay?" she asked, her voice hoarse. Nico weakly swatted her hand away.  
"I'm fine," he croaked. "What about you?"  
The tips of her hair were singed, as well as the cuffs of her jeans and sleeves of her shirt. Ash and dirt caked her from head-to-toe, and exhaustion was plain on her face. Nico's own eyelids were a little heavy.  
"I'm all right. Another monster defeated. More mortals saved."  
"Hm. Well, good job, I guess. With the fire and all," Nico said half-heartedly, sheathing his sword.  
"Thanks. I, uh, I couldn't have done it without you."  
He stopped moving, looking at Reyna, dusting herself off casually. No one had ever complimented him before. Maybe it wasn't a compliment, maybe it was only politeness–but it was something. And gazing at Reyna, frowning at her charred boots as if what she said was no big deal, somehow made his heart light.  
But she cleared her throat, and he forced himself to look away.  
"I suppose we should go. Get back to Hedge, make sure the Parthenos is fine..."  
"Yeah, yeah. Let's go."  
They cleared a path through the fire. All the mortal children had cleared, hopefully escaping the playground and returning to their parents, leaving a deserted street and a burnt-to-a-crisp park. The city was an eerie type of peace, but Nico enjoyed it nonetheless, appreciating the quiet.  
They had just rounded a corner, Coach Hedge and the Athena Parthenos coming into view, when something slammed into Nico's temple, and the world went black.


	5. Chapter 5

Nico woke to a kick in the gut.  
He jarred awake, his eyes snapping open, and tried to bolt upright–but the restraints around his wrists and ankles dug into his flesh, and he fell back. Whoever had kicked him didn't bother being gentle; pain boiled in his stomach and coiled up his spine.  
He looked up, only to confirm what he already knew: the son of Apollo glowered down on him, his eyes twinkling with amusement. His smooth features were contorted, as if he tasted something bitter, but his lips were still twisted in a wicked smile.  
Nico wanted to yell at the boy for stealing his thing, but he settled for a scowl. Blondie crossed his arms.  
"The ceremony's starting in fifteen. Get ready," he said.  
"Ready for what?" Nico asked, his voice hoarse.  
"You'll see." He started away, but Nico spoke again, his throat stinging.  
"Can I get some water? My throat is dry."  
"Like I'd give you anything. Who cares if you're thirsty when you'll be dead soon, anyway?" Blondie had a point there.  
"I thought you said you needed us well-rested. I'm sure you don't want us dehydrated, either," Nico rasped. "Get us–both of us–water, or I'll get it myself."  
Blondie considered this, his lip curling sourly.  
"Please," Nico added, the word rattling his brain, ringing in his ears. The last time he said that, he was ten–Bianca had bought a soda and refused to share. _Fine,_ he could almost hear her say. _But just a sip._  
Blondie hesitated, his eyes absent. Then his gaze focused and back straightened. He glared at Nico, his look icy.  
"I'll have to go down to the river. Shouldn't take longer than ten minutes, but I'll tell Max and Tom to keep an eye on you. Go anywhere or do anything, and I'll stick the drakon on you." His voice was cold, his tone threaded with acid.  
Once Blondie left, Nico's body un-tensed, releasing a stiffness he didn't know was there. He had no longer than ten minutes to free Reyna and himself and return to Coach Hedge. How he would do that, which the guards glaring at him three feet away or the arsenal of monsters surrounding them, he had no idea–it seemed impossible, hopeless even. But there was no turning back from here; the plan was already in place, and he had to follow through.  
Quickly but thoroughly, Nico scanned the area. Among a group of rogue satyrs, his sword was placed against a brick wall, Reyna's weapon beside it. The Stygian iron was cracked as if handled poorly, the leather grip half-buried in the dirt. No more than fifteen feet off.  
He tested his muscles, flexing his arms and legs, rolling his neck. The guards eyed him, and he scowled at them, the gesture genuine. They looked away immediately.  
Sleep still weighed down on Nico. His back ached from the battle with the Hydra, his head pounding and stomach churning from days without food. Other than that, he was in not-too-horrible shape.  
Quietly, Nico stretched out his right foot, straining against the ropes and the pain they brought, reaching toward Reyna and kicking her lightly but firmly in the calf. Her eyes rolled open, head lolling to the side, facing Nico. Since yesterday, she'd been growing ill–her eyes were bloodshot and vacant, cheeks flushed with fever. Exhaustion was written in her expression despite the hours of sleep she'd gotten. Nico had woken her briefly during the night, to explain her part of the plan while the guards were asleep. Hopefully she was well enough to listen and do as told.  
Instead of speaking, Nico stared at her intently, putting all his meaning into his gaze. He searched her eyes for understanding, and it seemed hopeless, until she nodded microscopically. Her eyes fell shut, her head rolled away, and for a moment, she was silent. Then she started screaming–a volley of shrieks, muffled by the gag. The guards rushed up, taking her by the arms and clamping their hands over her mouth. Reyna kept screeching until they undid her gag; then she spoke, her voice like a broken record.  
"I need to pee. Now."  
The guards groaned, their shoulders sagging.  
"Can't it wait?" one asked, leaning against his spear, the point stuck in the ground.  
"Now," Reyna repeated, urgency plain in her tone. And then: "Please." The word sounded forced, because it was, and not at all sincere–the guards grinned wickedly.  
"Well, when you put it that way... _No._" They cracked up, cackling like hyenas, their faces twisted in cruel smiles. Anger shook Nico's body. Any minute, Blondie would appear over the hillside, cradling a pail of water, and the plan would fall apart. They didn't have time for these idiots. They had to leave, _now._  
"Unless you want urine all over your fine ceremonial platform, I suggest you let her go," Nico said, his voice low and certain.  
The guards hesitated, glancing at each other questionably.  
"What would your boss think if he returned to a yellow puddle–"  
"Okay, okay! We'll let her use the bathroom! Shut up!" The second guard stepped forward and knelt by Reyna, working at the ropes until she was free. She stood, wobbling slightly, struggling to keep her balance.  
"Don't take longer than two minutes. And don't you _dare_ try anything." Reyna waved them off and started forward, almost tripping on the three steps to the ground. She stopped about twenty feet away beside a bush, squatting in the brush. The guards watched, their bodies still and eyes unmoving. After a moment, she stood and glanced around. Her eyes briefly met Nico's, and he shook his head.  
"Hurry up!" one of the guards hollered. Fifty feet away from Reyna, their weaponry still leaned against the wall, the blades gleaming in the morning light.  
Nico screwed his eyes shut, doing his best to steady his breaths despite his pulse thudding in his ears. He pictured the swords; the black of the Stygian iron and amber of the Imperial gold, the leather grips and pointed tips, the flakes of dried monster blood. The tunnel of shadow-travel appeared and disappeared in an instant, but when Nico opened his eyes, the world spun. He stumbled, nearly landing face-first in his sword. A few monsters jumped back in surprise, baring their teeth. Nico fumbled for his sword, wrapping his fingers around the hilt and swinging. The blade staggered through the air, slicing through several satyrs and a young Cyclops. Dust erupted around him, clouding the air and drawing the attention of more monsters. They charged as one, a chorus of growls and roars rising above the hiss of dissolving bodies. Through the haze of the yellow dust, Nico spotted the guards rushing towards him, spears in hand, forgetting Reyna entirely as she lumbered after them.  
"Hey, you!" one of them called, pointing. "Stop right now!"  
But Nico kept swinging and thrusting, the onslaught of monsters growing despite his blade cutting through them. Nico hadn't planned to defeat them all, and he wasn't going to–he couldn't have–he only had to fend them off until Reyna was within reach. It was more difficult than it should have been; his limbs ached, and every movement made his muscles scream. With every monster he killed, the less energy he had for the next–and most important–step.  
He was still doing well, however, killing each monster before it could lay a claw on him. But then something new loomed above him, something he hadn't seen since he was ten, and his veins turned to ice. A pair of leathery bat-like wings flapped above a vicious lion's head, a scorpion tail flicking behind it.  
Nico froze, his grip weak on his sword, as the manticore lunged. He moved a bit too slowly to the left, staggering over his own feet. The scorpion tail, poison shimmering on the tip, grazed his right forearm and impaled the ground beside him. Nico cried out, pain exploding in his arm, his sword clattering to the dirt.  
"Nico!" Reyna called from feet away, maneuvering between the monsters who disregarded her. Nico fell to his knees, his fingers digging into the earth. The manticore struggled to loosen its tail, flailing back and forth. With a _chink,_ it ripped free, and the monster approached him, raising its talons.  
Nico crumpled in defeat, but before the claws could reach him, a blade peeked through its gut. The manticore's face froze in a wicked grin, then it burst into dust. The demon scattered in the wind, lion head and all.  
Reyna swung her free arm around Nico's waist, lifting him onto her shoulder and taking off.  
"My sword," Nico croaked, gesturing to his weapon laying in the soil.  
"There's... There's no time," Reyna panted, her chest heaving as she limped forward, the onset of monsters at her heels. She twisted abruptly, Nico almost falling from her arms, and zig-zagged through a pattern of trees before stopping behind a brick wall. The monsters rushed past, growling as they chased after nothing. Reyna set Nico down and leaned against the wall, struggling to catch her breath. Nico was gasping himself, the world hardly visible behind a curtain of yellow dots. Anguish sizzled in his arm, spreading past his shoulders and spine.  
"Think you can... Think you can make it?" Reyna asked weakly, not needing to whisper.  
"I don't know," he answered, his voice barely audible over the noise behind them. They were both a mess–Reyna's face was an unhealthy pink, his arm was sticky with blood, and exhaustion has been eating them for days. Wouldn't it be easier to give up, to surrender to the monsters and let Gaea do as she pleases? At least that way Nico would be good for something–what can he do here, besides die of poisoning?  
"We have to," Reyna said, the uncertainty clear in her voice.  
"Why? Either way, we're dead," he replied woefully. Reyna shifted, moving as if the thought unsettled her.  
"No. We're not. Not yet."  
"Well we're going to be, soon. We failed, Reyna. We can't go on."  
"You can't say that!" Nico flinched at her sudden change on tone. "You can't say we can't go on, because all you've ever done is stay in one place. You've always stopped and let sadness drown you. Has it never occurred to you, to stay ahead of everything? To stay ahead of the grief?"  
"What do you know about grief?" Nico hissed, turning to look at her. Her features were blurred by the mist in his eyes. She paused, her expression unreadable.  
"More than you think."  
There was a silence then, no longer than three minutes, but it felt like an eon. The chaos behind them only grew when Blondie returned, screaming at the guards as the monsters continued their search.  
"I'm dying, Reyna," Nico said finally, his voice tragically flat. She shook her head.  
"You're not. We're going to Camp Half-Blood, and I'm sure they'll help you."  
"They never did before," he mumbled. Reyna grunted and turned to him, her eyes alight with a combination of desperation and fury.  
"You have to stop with the pity party, Nico. You're much more powerful than you think you are–much kinder and selfless, too. You think the reason people avoid you is because you're a son of Hades, but you're wrong. It's because you're so closed, like a locked door. If you were just a little more open, less secretive, people would like you more."  
"So you're saying I should pretend to be weak?" He lowered his voice as footsteps approached the other end of the wall.  
"Openness is not weakness. I'm not saying you should lose your assertiveness, just smile a little more and you won't seem like such a black hole." Irritation tingled under Nico's skin.  
"You don't know what you're talking about. Be more open? Smile more? Those are awfully hypocritical coming from your mouth."  
Reyna opened her mouth to speak, but Nico held up his palm to silence her.  
"Most of the time when I see you, you're either frowning or scowling. You are the least open person I know, and you dare give me advice on this? You have no idea what I've been through, what's happened to me, and you have _no right_ to tell me these things!" He slammed his fist on the ground involuntarily, and pain shot up his arm. He clamped his good hand over his mouth, his scream muffled as it came out.  
They sat in silence even longer, waiting, listening for any signs that something had heard him. But there was nothing except the commotion of footsteps and roars.  
"I don't know why we're discussing this," Reyna said, her voice surprisingly soft. Nico glanced at her, shocked to see tears streaming down her cheeks. She made no effort to hide them.  
He sighed, slouching against the wall. The stone was rough against the skin of his neck.  
"Me neither. We should be discussing our method of escape."  
Reyna turned to look at him. "I thought you said we're doomed. Now you're telling me we can escape?"  
"I'm not sure. But if you believe we can, I guess I have to, too."  
"You know what else I believe in? Nico." She wouldn't continue until he looked at her, the air electric between their eyes. "I believe in _you._ I mean, not from the start. I thought you were an Underworld freak at first."  
"Doesn't everyone," Nico muttered. Reyna ignored him.  
"From what I've seen so far, you're more capable than I ever thought a scrawny Hades kid could be. You got us this far–with my help, of course–and I expect you to get us to the end. Do you understand, soldier?" She raised her hand to her forehead, and it took Nico a moment to recognize the gesture; a salute. Hesitantly, he did the same.  
"I do." Despite the agony pulsing throughout his body and the monsters screeching not far behind them, Nico felt something–something in his gut that rose into his heart, filling his lungs with air: happiness.  
"Good." Reyna lowered her hand. "Now, get us out of here, already."  
Nico closed his eyes, sucking in a breath. Reyna grabbed his hand, her fingers curling into his, but he did his best to ignore it. Instead, he imagined Coach Hedge and the Parthenos–then, the green hills of Camp Half-Blood. He combined the two pictures, placing Coach and the Parthenos inside the barrier, beside the Big House. It was much more difficult than his other shadow-travels, taking longer than ten minutes for the tunnel to even appear, and twice that time for them to go through it. Reyna clutched his hand the entire time, her palm sweaty, and about halfway through, Nico pulled her into his arms. He expected her to pull away and slap him, but she didn't move other than to rest her head in his chest.  
When they did get spit out, the first thing that came into view was Thalia's tree, its branches extending over them. Coach Hedge was beside them, gasping and looking around in confusion, with the Parthenos not five feet away.  
Neither Nico nor Reyna had time to celebrate–they fell unconscious on the spot.


	6. Chapter 6

When Nico awakened, a pair of green eyes were in his face. At first, he thought they belonged to Percy–that he was back on the _Argo II_, about to be congratulated on his success. But as his vision cleared, he saw they belonged to Althea, the main healer of Camp Half-Blood. Her small face was framed by waves of sandy hair, encircling a button nose and thin lips.  
"I see you're awake," she said, pulling away. "Have a nice dream?"  
Nico ignored her question, gazing around. He was in the infirmary, unmistakable by its hospital beds and medical equipment, though there were no other patients. When he glanced down, he noticed he was wearing a loose hospital gown–very unflattering–and his wounded arm was bandaged tightly.  
"How long have I–"  
"Been asleep?" Althea finished, nodding slightly. "I get that a lot. 'Bout five days."  
_Five days._ A shadow-travel had never drained that much energy from him. Then again, he'd never attempting what he did before–two travels merged into one. What had he missed, in those five days?  
Nico tried to sit up, to see out the window, but just as his head left the pillow, nausea washed over him. He doubled over, his hand on his mouth, and Althea scrambled for a plastic bin beside her. She placed it on his bed, and he wretched over it. There was nothing to vomit up besides stomach acid–he hadn't eaten in two days–but he still hacked, only stopping when there was nothing left. Then he leaned back again, his chest heaving.  
Althea took the plastic bin, grimacing as she put it on the table beside his bed, within reach.  
"Some of the poison is still in your body," she explained, speaking each word slowly. "You should be fine, but don't try to move a lot."  
She stood, slinging a white bag over her shoulder. "I'll be back in an hour to clean and re-bandage your wound. Try to get some more sleep, recover your strength."  
And then she was gone. No award, congratulations–not even an insignificant smile and thank you. Nothing had changed; the camp still treated him like waste. If it was someone else–if it was Percy Jackson or Thalia Grace–they'd applaud and hold a week-long celebration in their honor. But he was Nico di Angelo, Son of Hades; he never received a reward.  
Nico couldn't sleep, despite the tons of fatigue crushing him like a boulder. Instead, he lay in bed miserably, staring at the ceiling and counting the cracks in the wood. Through the thin walls, he could hear the laughs of other campers, playing volleyball or climbing the lava-wall or whatever it is they were doing. Not once did he hear any mention of him.  
An hour later, Althea returned with her white bag. She peeled off the bandage, crumpling it and tossing it away. Nico forced his eyes to his wound–a scrape ran from his wrist to elbow. Blood no longer oozed from it, which he took as a good sign, but a layer of green coated the top, and the surrounding skin was a deep purple. The cut itself was minor, but the poison made up for the severity.  
Althea handled it gently, dabbing the injury with a washcloth, scrubbing the areas where the skin was untouched. She wrenched a small bottle from her bag, containing a white substance, and smeared it on Nico's arm. At first sight, it seemed like ordinary mortal medicine–but as she applied it, he noticed thousands of tiny gold flecks, shimmering.  
"What is that?" he asked. Althea flinched at his voice.  
"Godly disinfectant," she replied, focusing on her task. "Works magic. Literally."  
After thoroughly cleansing the wound, she pulled out a roll of cloth and wrapped it around his forearm snugly.  
"You're lucky it was only a graze," she claimed as she worked. "If the cut was deeper, your whole arm would have to go."  
"I don't feel very lucky," Nico responded. Even through the closed windows, he could hear the campers laughing, as if they were mocking him. Althea zipped up her bag and started toward the door, but Nico sat up, triggering a coughing fit so violent he wretched up more bile.  
"Lie down, idiot!" Althea yelled, dropping her bag and rushing over. Nico steadied himself, leaning back into the bed, his head sinking into the pillow as if it were made of stone. She peered into the plastic bin and shuddered quite visibly.  
"Maybe you should eat something. No use puking on an empty stomach."  
Nico grunted, and it came out strangled, like a cat hacking up a hairball. Althea left and returned not ten minutes later, a tray of food nestled in her arms. She set it on Nico's lap carefully, as if it were made of fragile glass. Several orange slices were stacked in the corner, along with apples and berries. A small carton of milk sat beside a cylinder container with a grinning cow printed on the label.  
"Greek yogurt," Althea explained, shrugging slightly. "It contains vitamins; it should help poisoning. I think."  
"And you're the top healer around here?" Nico mocked, surprised by how serious his tone was when it was supposed to be a joke. He'd never been much good at jokes.  
"Hey, watch it. I'm the only one who agreed to look after you. You think I _want_ to be here? I'd rather be toasting marshmallows over the campfire."  
_The only one who agreed to look after you._ So everyone else was so disgusted in him that they refused to get medical help. What a shock.  
He bit back some choice words of what Althea could toast next, and ate his food quickly, the tiny snack like a feast in comparison to weeks of grass and stale granola bars. She watched him with wide eyes as he peeled open the yogurt and squeezed it into his mouth, not bothering with the spoon. He lapped his tongue around the bottom, licking up the rest of the stuff like a dog. Althea cringed.  
"Repulsive," she said, shielding her eyes with her hands. Nico didn't care–after months of such a tight diet, manners weren't his first priority.  
Long after he finished, she stayed, monitoring him. He continued to count the cracks in the ceiling, and she stared longingly out the window. They sat in silence for a while, the only sounds the ticking clock and busy camp.  
"How'd you do it?" Althea asked finally, her voice full of wonder. Nico glanced at her–her eyes held something new, something no one had ever looked at him with: awe.  
"Do what?"  
"The shadow-travel. The satyr told me you got kidnapped and he was planning a rescue quest when," she spoke in a poor imitation of Coach Hedge, "'I was sucked into this demon-portal thingamajig.' You combined two shadow-travels into one–that's unheard of. How?"  
Nico shrugged. "I just did. Sometimes you do things you don't expect to do, and you surprise yourself."  
"Oh." Her features fell, the awe draining from her eyes, and Nico instantly regretted what he'd said. He should have made something up–a step-by-step story of how he'd achieved the unachievable. That's what Percy would have done. Instead, he'd made it out to be luck and coincidence. He'd Nico di Angelo'd his answer.  
"Well, I guess I should let you sleep–it's getting pretty late, and you need all the rest you can get." She stood, shouldering her bag and offering a forced smile. "Tomorrow you should be able to walk around. I'm going to bed. Goodnight."  
Nico's eyes were open long after Althea left. The laughs that trickled through the walls grew into a steady flow, and music was added to the noise, along with the crackling of a fire. Despite the months he'd spent away from Camp Half-Blood, he recognized the sounds immediately–a bonfire. The campers were celebrating–without Nico, without any mention of him at all. Right as he finally fell asleep, Nico wondered if Althea had lied to him about going to bed–and there was no use wondering about what he already knew.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, Althea was nowhere to be seen. Nico scanned the room, searching for other people, but he was alone, the beds and chairs unoccupied. His arm was newly bandaged and the plastic bin had been washed, but other than that, it was as if Althea had never came.  
Nico sat up, and miraculously, no nausea hit him. Light filtered in through the windows, warming Nico's head. He could just barely see through the one in front of him–burnt logs were strewn across the ground, plastic cups and wrappers scattered among them. No one had bothered to clean up, which might have meant it would be forced on him.  
He pushed himself to his feet, standing for the first time in six days. Almost immediately his knees buckled, and he stumbled face-first into the wall. His legs had gone numb, leaving him struggling to the door, gripping furniture for support. It took him almost three minutes to just reach the knob, and by then, some of the feeling had returned, his feet prickling sharply whenever he stepped.  
There was close to no one out. A few satyrs roamed, munching on the bonfire litter. A tree nymph and water naiad chatted in the woods. The only other demigods were clustered around the Athena Parthenos, feet away from Thalia's tree. They donned light armor–leather breastplates and steel helmets–and clutched thin spears, and they didn't so much as glance at the forest; their eyes were set on the horizon, far off. Nico could tell they weren't concerned about monsters, but about the thousands of Romans, heading their way.  
Most of the guards were children of Ares, recognizable by their rough features and scowls. Clarisse La Rue was in front of the group, her stringy hair pulled back in a ponytail. She gripped her spear so tightly Nico thought it would snap. The majority of them he didn't recall–newcomers, maybe–but Reyna was among them. Her dark hair was damp and smoothed into a braid, and she'd lost the unhealthy pinkness of her skin. Her eyes were clear and stern as she gazed out over the hill, not so much as blinking.  
"Reyna," Nico said, startling the guards. They turned, their features hardening at the sight of him, some tightening their hold on their spears. For a moment, they just stared at him, unmoving. Then Clarisse stepped forward, her face growing in a false grin.  
"Well," she said, her voice strained, "if it isn't di Angeleave. Got tired of running away?"  
A few of the guards snickered. Reyna kept staring, her expression unreadable.  
"I need to speak with Reyna," Nico put calmly, forcing his mouth into a straight line.  
"The Roman?" Clarisse shook her head. "She's just here so the army recognizes her and doesn't attack us."  
"Don't you think they might assume you took her captive and are holding her prisoner when they see her?"  
"Not when they see her with us, they won't. Nice nightgown, by the way." More snickers. Nico unclenched his fists, trying to relax himself.  
"I need to speak with Reyna," he repeated. "It's urgent." Without waiting for a reply, he took Reyna by the arm and led her away from the group, out of earshot.  
"I see you're not that big here," she said, setting down her spear and stretching her arms.  
"When you think they'll be here?" He gazed at the hills stretching beyond the camp, the sun peeking over them.  
"Couple days," she sighed, her shoulders slumping. It never occurred to Nico how hard it must be for her–watching her own army lead itself to attack her very quest, thinking she was kidnapped, or worse.  
"How did they–what does the camp think?"  
Reyna hesitated, picking at her bottom lip with her teeth. "There was a camp meeting while you were out. Mostly everyone was there. They wanted to keep the Parthenos and attack the Romans, but I talked some sense into them. Now they're willing to negotiate. But they say if the Romans attack first, they'll fire back."  
She paused, seeming to consider what she wanted to say next. "And, they took the news about Camp Jupiter a little harshly. Called us traitors to their kind." Her eyes glinted and she looked away, obviously not wanting Nico to notice. He pretended he hadn't.  
"Did you tell them I was there?" he asked.  
"Nico, a lot of things came up and–"  
"Answer me."  
Reyna closed her eyes. "Yes. I told them you were there for a few months."  
"So that's why they're treating me like trash."  
"That's ridiculous. They aren't..." She trailed off, peering at the guards a few yards away. They glared at Nico as if he were a criminal. Clarisse rested her hand on the Parthenos, stroking it like it were a pet.  
"Don't they know who got that stupid statue in the first place," Nico said, more of remark than a question. The sky was brightening, and more campers were appearing. They walked right past him without so much as a wave.  
Reyna sighed so loudly it seemed like a statement itself. "There's another bonfire tonight. If you want, you can come. Might be the only chance you have to clear your name."  
Nico considered this. He'd only ever been to a bonfire twice, and both times he stayed in the shadows, not speaking. Getting up and addressing himself in front of everyone didn't seem ideal, but if it stopped the nasty looks, it was worth a try.  
"Fine," he muttered. "Anything to get those idiots to stop giving me the evil eye."  
Reyna didn't respond. She seemed to be in another time, her eyes distant, subconsciously wringing her hands. They were less than a half-foot apart, the skin of their arms nearly touching. Nico could feel her body heat, waves of warmth emitting off her. Yet they seemed so far apart, as if an invisible wall were separating them.  
"Listen, Reyna," he started slowly. "About what I said earlier, when we were behind that wall. I didn't mean to–"  
"What? No." She stepped back, the wall between them growing. "It has nothing to do with–"  
"Hey, Roman!" Clarisse called. "Break's up, get back here!"  
Reyna scowled, a gesture Nico hadn't seen since nearly a week ago. "I suppose I should go–gods knows what happens when she's angry." She picked up her spear, jabbing the butt into the dirt as she returned to her post. She said something to the guards, to which Clarisse responded loudly with, "Deal with it."  
Nico felt suddenly exposed in her absence. The hospital gown fell only an inch or two past his knees, leaving his bony white legs on display. He was barefoot, his feet caked with mud, his hair was a matted mess, and a fine layer of grime had settled on the skin of his face. Obviously, no one had bothered to wash the rest of him during his unconsciousness. He couldn't say he blamed them–he smelled worse than centaur manure.  
He made his way to the showers, keeping his head low. Even with his eyes down, he could feel the stares of the campers, burning into his skin like an animal brander. They laughed and pointed fingers, and he wished he could summon an army of skeletons to drive them all away, but he did his best to ignore them.  
The warm water soothed him. He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing out the dirt and dust, and scrubbed his injured arm. The wound seemed to be healing–the swelling had gone down, and the deep purple skin had turned a light pink.  
When he stepped out of the shower, there was a mirror on the wall in front of him. He stared at himself in it; his eyes were foggy, the skin underneath them thin and dark. His cheeks were hollow, the shape of his face gaunt. His skin had turned to a ghostly gray, his ribs were in plain sight–he looked like a skeleton. He'd become what his father was–what he was fated to be. Nico wanted to smash the mirror, to put his fist through it and send hundreds of tiny pieces of himself scattering across the floor. He settled for spitting on it instead.  
He'd left his clothes laying on the rocks by the lake to dry after washing them. They were still damp, but he put them on, relieved to be back in his familiar skull T-shirt, jeans and aviator jacket. He still had his sword sheath, but his sword was still back at the traitors' ceremony. He missed having it by his side, gripping the hilt when he was nervous or afraid. Not wanting to prance around unarmed, he 'borrowed' a Celestial bronze sword from the shed behind the Ares cabin.  
The rest of the day was spent sitting on a log, waiting for the bonfire. Nico had found Coach Hedge, lounging in the forest, flirting with nymphs. The Coach hardly acknowledged him, just gave a quick nod and continued to brag about how he "bravely killed everything in their path."  
Nico had wanted to take a nap, but the Hermes kids were using the Hades cabin as a miniature golf course, so he'd laid down on a fallen tree trunk behind the bushes. Through the leaves, he could see the Apollo children playing volleyball, their skin as golden as the sun. He thought of Blondie and the other demigod traitors, working for Gaea, and wondered if Percy and the others would encounter them. The more he thought about the _Argo II,_ sailing across the world and fighting monsters, the less he wanted to be here, at Camp Half-Blood, uselessly lying around. All he could do was stare at the sky, watching the sun shift and clouds move.  
When night finally came and the bonfire started, Nico stayed at the back of the crowd, watching the flames go up through shoulders and necks. People laughed and sang and talked, drinking fruit punch and hot chocolate, huddling around the fire like moths to light. Even Clarisse danced a little with Chris Rodriguez, her face lighting up in a smile Nico had never seen before.  
He and Reyna seemed to be the only ones not having fun. She stood by the opposite side of the fire, arms crossed tightly across her chest, stiff as a board. Neither of them moved or said anything until Mr. D, the camp director, stepped up onto a stump and tapped his wine glass with a spoon. Quiet spread across the area, a few people whispering and shuffling around.  
"I'd just like to congratulate the success on recovering the great Athena Parthenos," he started. "I understand the Romans are heading this way as we speak, leading an army of thousands against us, hoping to annihilate our kind. They misunderstand us, foolishly thinking we are the enemy. They have no reason to attack us." A string of boos aroused, cut off almost immediately.  
"And yet they are. Normally, we'd set up a brigade and fire cannons and arrows upon them, stopping them before they could set foot on the hill. However, we've been... _convinced_ to show mercy and attempt to negotiate using the Athena Parthenos, offering them that in exchange for our safety." His eyes drifted to Reyna. The campers looked at her, all wearing different expressions.  
"A Roman praetor seems to have abandoned her troops, stealing the Athena Parthenos and bringing it here, possibly in attempt to frame us. Although now, she has proposed her help, begging us to show her soldiers kindness. Despite her betrayal to both sides of this conflict, we've chosen to forgive her. Personally, I respect her ability to see what is clear and her choice to surrender."  
Reyna reddened, her eyes blazing and fists quaking with anger. With each word Mr. D spoke, Nico's veins sizzled, his head throbbing with fury.  
"This Roman also seems to have brought along our long-lost Hades friend and a new satyr–two more lazy creatures to sit around while we do the heavy lifting." Snickers were tossed around the group, and someone nudged Nico harshly in the shoulder. He fought to keep his mouth shut, his heart pounding in his chest.  
"But that is not the point. When the Romans appear, we will hesitate, notifying them of our gift and our deal. If they still choose to attack, we will counter, and we will win. We will prevail!" The campers repeated it, _We will prevail!_ floating around the bonfire and disappearing with the smoke. Mr. D stepped down, sipping his hot chocolate, and just as the chatter started to rise again, Nico ran to the stump and jumped onto it.  
"Listen, everyone!" he hollered, quickly getting everyone's attention. "Few things what Mr. D claimed were true: the Romans _do_ misunderstand us, but not in the way you think. At Camp Jupiter, their home, the Seven demigods of the Prophecy were... visiting, I suppose you could say. One of them, a Greek, was possessed by spirit of Gaea's as I understand, and was forced to fire upon them. They think _we_ are the traitors, and only want to exact their revenge, to get back at us for destroying their camp."  
A chorus of boos rose up, so loud Nico had to pause. "That's not any better!" someone shouted.  
"And Reyna is not a traitor, in any case," he proceeded. "She didn't steal the Parthenos–it was found by Annabeth, who fought off the monster Arachne to get it. She and Percy Jackson fell into Tartarus because of it, and I was given specific orders by them to deliver it here. It's not a spoil of war, or a gift–it's an ancient artifact, and we intend for it to mend the rivalry between the Greeks and Romans."  
"The Romans are traitors!" a small, brown-haired boy yelled. "They want to kill us–all of us!"  
"Only because, like Mr. D said, they think we're the enemy. But they're not fools; I'm almost certain they'll accept our offer and work with us to defeat the real enemy: Gaea and her giants. They do have a reason to attack us, and we have a reason to defend ourselves, but that doesn't mean we should. That would only result in hundreds–maybe thousands–of lost lives on both sides. That would give Gaea what she wants. Is that really how you want it?"  
More boos, possibly louder than before, erupted around Nico. A little girl, no older than six, stuck out her tongue at him. Reyna rushed up to the stump, holding up her palms, and stepped up beside him.  
"He's right!" she bellowed, her voice thundering. The noise was instantly cut off, and the crowd jumped back in surprise. "You all look at us and see only traitors, but we have seen what real traitors look like. There are demigods conspiring against us, working for Gaea. We'd been captured, intended to be sacrificed to awaken her, and are lucky we escaped. The Athena Parthenos was brought here by us, from the _Argo II,_ as commanded by the Seven; I witnessed what happened at Camp Jupiter. I did _not_ abandon my troops, nor surrender to you–I simply have the capability to see what is right, and if I do, I am certain they will to."  
Reyna paused, waiting for a reaction, but there was only silence.  
"This camp claims to be reasonable, though what I have seen and heard during my stay here proves the exact opposite. Nico and I, along with Coach Hedge, have brought you a chance at peace, but you look only to violence. Negotiation with the Romans is not mercy–it is common sense, but you all are too blinded by your own camp to see that. This camp is not reasonable–it's unjust!"  
There was an unsettling silence after she finished, as if the campers were deciding something Nico couldn't hear. They looked stunned, with open mouths and wide eyes, and for a moment, Nico thought they finally agreed.  
Then the boos exploded, and him and Reyna were pelted by plastic cups, most of them full.


	8. Chapter 8

"Right after I washed them, too!"  
Reyna submerged her jeans underwater, scrubbing vigorously with her hands, digging her fingernails into the cloth as if it were Clarisse's neck. Nico rubbed a smooth stone over the fabric of his aviator jacket, trying to work the juice stains from them. His own jeans were splattered with chocolate and punch alike, the sticky liquids clinging to his skin. His T-shirt laid on the shore beside him, drying for the second time since his arrival–after almost two hours of cleaning, he managed to make the stains slightly less visible. He never realized how stubborn liquid chocolate and fruit juice could be.  
"This camp is more foolish than the fauns at New Rome. Gods, we try to help them, and they repay us by assaulting us with cups? They will regret that, I swear on the River–"  
"Watch it," Nico warned. "You don't want to go throwing around deadly promises like that."  
Reyna had been ranting nonstop about the Greeks and their delusion, telling stories of arrogant heroes and their obsession with violence. Nico had tried to remind her that it was the Romans who were waging war in the first place, but she seemed to overlook that fact.  
She didn't speak for so long after that, Nico wondered if she'd finally run out of air. Then she sat up straight, like a spider just crawling across her back, and clutched her jeans ever tighter.  
"Soon. They'll be here soon–tomorrow, probably, or maybe even today if they are in a hurry." She paused, staring at her hands. "So we have failed."  
"What? What do you mean? We got the Parthenos to camp."  
"Yes, but that was only part of the quest. We are supposed to negotiate peace between the two sides. How are we to do that when we can't even show our faces without something being thrown at us?"  
"No one said _we_ had to do it. Clarisse, Mr. D and the others said they'll offer the Parthenos and attempt to negotiate."  
"_Attempt._ They said if the Romans attack first, they'd counter."  
"So we'll convince them not to attack." But Nico's own voice was less certain now.  
Reyna shook her head. "How can we do that when we can't even commune with them?"  
Nico stopped cleaning. He was in the middle of wringing the lake water out of his jacket, his fingers clenched around two sleeves. "Maybe we _can_ commune." He dug through his pockets, but only came up with several pomegranate seeds and his old skull ring.  
"By any chance, do you have any drachmas?" Nico asked Reyna.  
"Drachmas?" Reyna frowned. "No, I didn't think we'd need money on a quest to make peace. Why–are you planning to _bribe_ the Romans?"  
"No. We need them for an IM."  
"Instant-message?"  
"Iris-message."  
Reyna's frown deepened. Nico splayed out his jacket on the gravel beside his shirt and crouched, duck-walking through the bushes."  
"What are you doing?" she asked, trailing behind him.  
"Stealing some drachmas," he put calmly, not stopping to glance behind him.  
"What? Nico, you can't just steal–"  
"Why not? We stole these clothes," he said, referring to the baggy Camp Half-Blood tee that hung off his skeletal frame and the short sweatpants that cut off just below Reyna's knees.  
"We borrowed–"  
"You're the one nagging me about the camp. Why defend them now?"  
Nico didn't wait for her to respond. He crawled on, circling the cabins from the brush until he reached the Iris cabin. Then he emerged and sprinted for the cabin, praying it was empty. Fortunately, it was. Unfortunately, that left Nico vulnerable to the horrors inside.  
There were rainbows pouring in through every window–probably some kind of magical enchantment, since the sun was hidden behind dozens of thick, gray clouds. The walls were painted in four differently irritating colors–yellow, lime green, vibrant purple and pure white. It was as if a giant clown had sat on the cabin; the beds, the furniture, even the picture frames were all brightly colored. The loudness of the place both nauseated Nico and temporarily blinded him.  
Reyna burst in behind him, gasping when she caught sight of the room.  
"Oh my," she said, squinting. "Was a unicorn slaughtered in here?"  
"I don't think a single unicorn could cause all this," Nico answered, moving through the room, shielding his eyes with his hands. At the far end was a fountain–the only somewhat normal object in the cabin. It was made out of marble, the base shaped into a cloud (why was he not surprised?), with a small statue of Iris in her Greek robes spraying water from her hand. And, of course, the water was reflecting–wait for it–rainbows.  
On either side of the fountain, there were two large stacks of golden drachmas. Nico took one from each pile, so it wouldn't be uneven and too suspicious. He tossed the first one in the water, and chanted, "Oh Iris, goddess of the Rainbow, please accept my offering."  
At first, nothing happened. Nico worried that Iris didn't accept stolen offerings. Then the water shimmered, a cloud of mist appearing from it, and the drachma dissipated. The goddess must have been on her lunch break or something.  
He hesitated, tempted to call for Bianca–spirit or not, he wanted to know how his sister was. But his mission was to contact the Twelfth Legion, not chat with his sibling.  
"Show me Octavian," he ordered. The mist shifted, swirling like a miniature storm cloud, forming an image–the blonde himself, scowling, surrounded by dozens of others. They all had various armor and weapons, some carrying spears and wearing thin leather, others wielding swords and donning heavy iron. Behind them, green pastures and hills stretched–they couldn't be too far.  
"Di Angelo." Octavian's scowl grew when he saw Nico.  
"Listen, I came to talk, not spit insults."  
"There is nothing to talk about. Your kind has insulted us. They have fired upon us. We claim our revenge."  
Nico resisted the urge to tell the augur to shut his yap. Octavian was always out for blood–he was brainwashed, convinced the Greeks were his enemy. In a way, he was worse than Gaea. At least Gaea sat off to the side, subtly meddling with the war instead of leaping in the middle of it and waving her arms.  
"We are not your enemy," Nico said calmly. "The firing was an accident–Gaea's servants, the eidolons, they–"  
"Do not attempt to deceive us, _Graecus!_" Octavian bellowed, startling his own men. "We have had enough of your trickery!"  
Nico clenched his fists. Negotiation with the Romans would be a lot simpler if they didn't have a vengeful maniac leading them.  
"We are not deceiving you," Nico replied, unable to keep the edge from his voice. "We are trying to end the feud between the Romans and the Greeks–to stop the war between Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood. Your praetor, Reyna, is here now–"  
"_Reyna?_ Preposterous! She left on a quest across the ancient lands to find your silly ship!"  
Nico's veins sizzled, and he wanted to slap the Roman upside the head. Fortunately, before he could say something out of hand, Reyna pushed into the picture.  
"I am here, Octavian," she said, her voice like metal. Octavian's features softened a little upon seeing her, but his voice was still hard.  
"Reyna, what in the name of Jupiter are you doing with the Greeks? You are making a fool out of yourself!"  
"No, I am not. They are our allies, dim-witted as they are." Nico struggled to stay quiet as she spoke that part. "They did not deceive us–Annabeth Chase was in Tartarus, and before that, she uncovered the Athena Parthenos. We were given a task to bring it to Camp Half-Blood, Nico and myself."  
"By whom?" Octavian demanded.  
"The Seven of the Great Prophecy. Percy Jackson–"  
Octavian scoffed, opening his mouth to speak, but Reyna continued.  
"–and Jason Grace, along with the others. We are here now; the Athena Parthenos is resting on this hill of theirs, waiting for you to claim it."  
Octavian knit his eyebrows. "Waiting for _us?_ What do you mean?"  
"The Greeks offer it as a symbol of peace–an offering, if you will. They say we can have it, keep it, so long as the war ends."  
"Lies!" he shrieked. "The oracle and satyr claimed a Roman delivering the statue to the camp would create peace, mend the gods' personalities. We are still on the verge of battle! The gods are still warring with themselves! The statue did nothing, and now you wish to send it over as an _offering?_ This is an obvious trick!"  
Reyna pursed her lips in confusion. "That... That cannot be true. They said keeping it would simply be a spoil of war. They claimed offering it to the legion would be better. They–"  
"They played with your mind, Reyna!" Around him, the Roman soldiers shifted uneasily, their expressions uncertain. Octavian's eyes were as hard as rock. "Like I have said before: the Greeks are infamous for their trickery! They have puzzled you, dulled your way of thinking! They will kill us all if we do not attack first!"  
Reyna seemed like she wanted to protest, but Nico could see the uneasiness in her eyes. Even Nico himself was starting to believe Octavian–of course, it could always just be his persuasive speaking, but why else would the Greeks offer the Romans the Parthenos? Why else would they refuse Nico and Reyna any detailed information? They were foolish to think Clarisse would want to negotiate peace that quickly. The Athena Parthenos was not an offering–it never was.  
It's a trap.  
"Octavian," Nico said quickly, pushing past Reyna so he was visible. "Do not attack, but do not let your guard down either. The Athena Parthenos is a trap."  
"_I knew it!_ The Greeks are enemies and must be–"  
"Can it, _Romanus!_" Nico had no time for keeping his cool. "When you arrive, do not fire on us. Stand your ground, do your best to delay the battle. I– I will try to stop them."  
Octavian scoffed, his eyes alight with fury. "What can a child of the Underworld do? Wherever you go, they shun you–demigods, gods, even monsters! There is nothing you can do to prevent this inevitable war–we will fight, and we will succeed!"  
With that, the Roman swiped his hand through the image, and the mist dissipated, Octavian and the army evaporating into the air.  
Nico leaned back, his muscles like lead. Reyna stared at the fountain in disbelief, her expression a mix of disappointment, shock and anger.  
All this time, he'd turned his nose up at the Romans for making things up about the Greeks and their deceit. He'd figured it was just an excuse to go to war. But they were _right–_Camp Half-Blood wanted to lure them in with the Parthenos, offer it and peace, then attack while the legion's guard was let down. It was so disappointing, to discover how low they would stoop. He'd never known the camp to be so conniving. It felt as if the entire sky was just lowered onto his shoulders.  
_The oracle and satyr claimed a Roman delivering the statue to the camp would create peace, mend the gods' personalities._  
Nico had no idea who _the satyr_ meant–possibly one of Percy's friends–but he remembered Rachel Elizabeth Dare, the oracle of Camp Half-Blood. Jason had said she'd visited the Twelfth Legion to convince Reyna about the Athena Parthenos, telling her it'd prevent the war. Had Rachel known about the assault plan then? Did she know _now?_  
"Reyna, follow me," he said, standing and starting toward the door. She turned, her eyes glittering with rage.  
"Why?" Her tone held accusation, as if Nico were to blame for the camp's actions.  
"We're going to find the oracle and ask her some things."  
They found Rachel in a cave at the edge of camp. Through the beads serving as an entryway, the place reminded Nico of a vintage hippie house–lanterns hung from the ceiling, the walls covered with paintings of all sorts. Several unfinished works were strewn across the floor, and a dozen canvases were stacked in a corner. The bed was a mattress piled high with pillows and blankets, an old, thick book resting beside it.  
The oracle herself was even brighter than the Iris cabin. She wore a tie-dyed T-shirt and tattered jeans rolled up at the ankles, her colorful socks mismatched. Her curly mane of red hair seemed to scream at Nico, her green eyes piercing against her pale skin.  
They told her about their quest, the bonfire, and the call with Octavian. The entire time, Rachel remained silent, nodding occasionally, her lips pursed as she listened. When they finished, she hesitated, opening and closing her mouth as if unsure of what to say. She fiddled with a blue plastic hairbrush, turning the handle over in her fingers.  
"I don't understand," she said finally. "Why would they want to do this?"  
Nico shook his head. He didn't know why they wanted to do this. The lies, the aggression and betrayal–that was nothing like the warm, gushy Camp Half-Blood Nico knew.  
"I don't know," he replied. "But they're doing it. And unless we stop them..." He didn't need to continue. Nico had seen some disturbing images in Katoptris, Piper McLean's fortune-telling dagger–Half-Blood Hill littered with the bodies of the fallen, Greeks and Romans alike. A shifting face in the dirt, a woman's face, her eyes opening slowly. Horrible, dreadful things–and they'd all begin with a single arrow, a single slash of a sword.  
"How can you be so sure? Maybe it isn't a trick. Maybe they are offering peace–"  
"No. They're _doing it._ That much I'm certain of."  
Rachel pursed her lips again, her eyes glassy and deep in thought.  
"So you aren't associated with this at all?" Reyna asked, her voice jagged like a shard of broken glass. She studied Rachel with hard eyes, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. She wasn't being fair to Rachel, but Nico couldn't say he blamed her after what they'd discovered.  
"No. I just found out."  
"You have absolutely nothing to do with the ignorant betrayal of your camp?"  
A flash of hurt passed over Rachel's eyes, quickly replaced by a kind of cautious anger. Nico instinctively reached for his sword–he'd seen that look far too many times, and it was never good.  
"Listen, _Romanus,_" she spat. "I don't know what your deal is. I had no idea about this whole thing until you told me. If you want to be so hostile then be my guest, just don't take it out on me!"  
Reyna's eyes blazed like a wildfire. She opened her mouth to speak, but Nico cut her off, stepping slightly between the two.  
"That doesn't matter," he said calmly. "We have to focus on the problem at hand. Rachel, can you talk to Mr. D or Chiron about this? Try to reason with them?"  
"I don't even think Chiron _knows_ about this," Rachel admitted. "He went to find the Party Ponies two weeks ago. Besides, Chiron isn't a violent idiot–if he knew, he'd put a stop to this right away."  
"Then why don't you contact him? Iris-message?"  
"I tried, to fill him in on the preparations, but he doesn't answer. He said he wouldn't have time for camp updates."  
"Well, what about Mr. D?"  
"He only hears what he wants to hear–he'd never listen to me."  
Nico swallowed his frustration. It was starting to seem impossible to reason with either camps. Both were so blinded by war and overcame by vengeance and justice, that they ignored anything besides battle. They failed to see the clear solution, what was right in front of them.  
"Is there _anything_ you can do?" It came out harsher than Nico intended. Rachel stiffened then turned away, running her fingertips gently across a painting on the wall. She stared at the colors as if trying to see beyond them. It was a while before she replied.  
"I can warn them. Meet them at the hill when they arrive and talk, tell them not to attack but still be careful, things like that. But it'll be safer if someone goes with me–someone who they're familiar with, one of their own." She gazed warily at Reyna.  
Reyna pretended she hadn't noticed, glancing around the cave as if searching for an escape.  
"Reyna," Nico said. She winced and looked at him, her gaze almost as toxic as the _katoblepones'_ was back in Venice. "She's right."  
She hesitated, glaring at Nico as if debating whether or not to chop off his head. Then she hung her shoulders and sighed. "Okay–fine, I'll accompany the oracle."  
That left Nico. He'd gave the Romans his word that'd he would try to stop the attack, but how could he do such a thing when the campers shunned him–when _everyone_ shunned him?  
Octavian was right about one thing–a child of the Underworld could never stop a war. He was the son of Hades–darkness rolled off him, grass withered in his wake. He wasn't meant to shine light on a situation. He wasn't meant to save the world.  
What _was_ he meant to do?  
"Nico," Reyna said, her voice tentative. Nico realized his fists were clenched around the hem of his T-shirt, his fingernails digging into the fabric. His shoulders were stiff, his back tense.  
"I'm fine. We should go sleep–the Romans will be here tomorrow."  
Reyna nodded, her eyes stormy. Rachel plopped down on her bed, lifting the large book onto her lap and flipping furiously through it. He and Reyna pushed through the beaded entrance and out of the cave, the evening air bittersweet. There was no bonfire tonight, only the dim lights inside the cabins as the campers settled down for the night. Clarisse and the guards positioned themselves around the Athena Parthenos, staring grimly beyond the horizon, where the last patches of sunlight melted into darkness. Clarisse gripped her spear, as if eager to use it on anyone who crossed her path. She watched them as they passed, her lips twisting into a sneer and eyes flickering like a dying flame.  
The Hades cabin was painted purely black, scenes of torture and death carved into the walls. It reminded Nico of the House of Hades, of the destroyed alter Hazel had told him about. When he climbed into bed, the sheets cold and thin, he turned his back to the wall and squeezed his eyes shut.  
As Nico fell asleep, a stone settled in his gut. He remembered what Reyna had said: _We are supposed to negotiate peace between the two sides. How are we to do that when we can't even show our faces without something being thrown at us?_  
He'd thought their quest was over–they'd gotten the Parthenos to Camp Half-Blood. But Reyna had been right. Their quest wasn't over; it'd just barely begun.


	9. Chapter 9

Nightmares were typical for demigods, but that didn't make them any less unpleasant.  
When Nico opened his eyes, he found himself on Half-Blood Hill –though instead of the lush green pastures and blooming flowers, there was ash. Miles and miles of ash, spreading like a wildfire, engulfing the trees and withering the plants. At first, it seemed to be suffocating Nico, choking him like a boa constrictor. Then he realized it was _coming_ from him–rolling off him like waves, slithering across the grassy plains, turning everything in its wake to smoldering rubble.  
There were no bodies strewn across the ground, not like his other dreams. Nor was there the face in the dirt. There was only the ash, and it continued to spread until it seemed to wrap around the entire world. Then, the earth shifted underneath Nico's feet. He stumbled backward, collapsing onto a fallen tree trunk, burnt to a crisp–with a shiver, he realized it was Thalia's tree, the great pine now a smoking pile of black.  
The soil protruded before him, shooting up tens of feet in the air. Then it became to take form, growing a slim, human-like figure, long gravel-like hair, and a gown that seemed to be made of mud. Her face was beautiful in a 20th-century sort of way–and Nico was one to talk, since he'd grown up in the 20th century. Even though her eyes were closed and features unmoving, Nico could sense her smile.  
When he spoke, his own voice sounded muffled, as if he were talking through a pillow. "Gaea."  
The earth rumbled beneath him, which might have been laughter or maybe a growl. The goddess spoke smoothly, her words like polished marble.  
_Patience, young demigod. Your time will indeed come._  
"My time? Time for _what?_" Nico shouted, unable to hide the tremor of fear in his voice. Gaea laughed again, nearly sending Nico tumbling into a charred patch of thorn bushes.  
_Your time to serve._  
With that, Gaea dissipated, her form crumpling and scattering as if she were just an old statue. Walls of ash rose around Nico, choking him with smoke and blinding him with darkness. He collapsed, clutching at his throat and retching, his eyes stinging with tears.  
_Sacrifices. Beautiful sacrifices to wake the goddess._  
Then the ash overwhelmed him.  
Nico woke to sunlight, but not because of the sun. He jolted upward, startled by his own screams, clawing at the sheets with sweaty hands.  
It took him a moment to take in the alarms that blared, the shouts of commands as the campers rushed outside. His chest was heaving, his lungs sore as if some of the smoke from his dreams had stayed with him.  
He forced himself out of bed, his muscles like anvils, and gazed out the window. The campers were in a hurry, scrambling to put on armor, grabbing spears, swords and other weapons from a shack, rushing to meet Thalia's tree.  
The sun was just rising, orange and pink tearing across the deep blue sky. Stars were fading, the moon paling, clouds appearing above. It seemed peaceful–except for all the noise and commotion. Nico wanted to collapse back onto his bed, bury his head under his pillow, and fall into a deep sleep–no nightmares, no interruptions. He deserved a little rest, after everything he'd been through. All the stress of the camp, all the pressure, was giving him a godly headache.  
But of course he couldn't rest, so he straightened up, stretched out his arms and legs to lift some of the weight off them, and headed outside. There were racks of supplies beside the Zeus cabin–Nico slipped into a leather breastplate and thin iron helmet, unsheathed his stolen Celestial sword, and followed the others.  
Past Thalia's tree, not too far from where he stood, something was moving steadily towards them–a large blotch of purple, white and silver. Once it got closer, Nico noticed that the white was togas, the silver was armor, and the purple... The purple was everything. Capes, T-shirts, even shoes.  
Camp Jupiter. They'd arrived. They approached with confidence, as if certain they would trample this camp to rubble and walk away completely unharmed. Backs straight, hands tightly gripping their weapons, stepping in unison, moving as one. Once they were only about hundred yards away, Nico could pick a few out–Octavian, in the lead, his toga mummifying his stick of a body. He didn't seem to be happy, but he walked with a sort of amusement in his posture. He held his sword stiffly, his knuckles white, and Nico could tell he was itching to use it.  
Dakota was a little ways behind Octavian, walking in pace with everyone else. He was frigid, unmoving except for his feet, as if he were a robot. A splotch of Kool-Aid stained his purple shirt.  
Nico recognized some Romans who'd always taunted him, pushed him around for being a child of Hades–or Pluto, as they thought. They walked with scowls on their faces and fire in their eyes. He figured if he went out to negotiate with them, they'd cut him into pieces and send him on a long visit to his father's realm.  
He pushed to the front of the crowd, earning him some Greek swears and evil-eyes. Reyna stood next to Clarisse. She stared out at the army grimly, like how someone looks as a picture of a deceased friend. Clarisse fidgeted with her spear, subconsciously biting her lip. The daughter of Ares had faced many monsters, even armies of monsters, but Nico guessed this was more challenging than any of them–monsters were simple-minded creatures, attacking without thought. These were humans–half human, anyway–with wits, training and minds. They wouldn't be so easy to defeat.  
Nico opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. They lodged in his throat, crowded by fear and anticipation. Instead, he tapped Reyna on the shoulder. She turned to him, the sadness still in her eyes. She donned full iron armor, and a purple cape cascaded down her back. Her hair was braided to one side, like how she'd worn it at Camp Jupiter. She must have wanted them to recognize her as their leader, not a traitor. But she still seemed to be in pain, her lips pursed and eyebrows pinched, like she'd been stabbed. Nico felt a strange desire to help her, to comfort her. Of course, that was ridiculous–Reyna didn't need comforting, and what good at it was Nico, anyway?  
He mouthed "It's time" and gestured at Rachel, who was leaning against a rack of arrows a few feet away. She nodded, grabbing Rachel's arm and whispering something to her. They both said some things to Mr. D, then started down the hill, holding up their hands, palms out, signaling the Romans to hold their attack.  
Nico couldn't see very well from where he stood–but he could make out some unsavory gestures and movements. Reyna said something to Octavian, who sneered and spat something back. Rachel yelled something with flailing arms, causing Reyna to shout "Enough!" fairly loudly and Octavian to raise his sword to his side. It wasn't too hard to guess things weren't going right.  
Around him, the campers shifted nervously, whispering to one enough and moving their weapons from hand to hand. Tree nymphs melted into their trunks, river naiads fading away with their currents. They all could sense it, feel it in the air. Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter were on the very brink of war, the only thing between them two girls arguing with a spiteful twig of a leader.  
He couldn't just stand there and watch it happen. No, he had to do something, stupid and futile as it was. So he turned to Clarisse and spoke, his voice harsh and gritty.  
"You realize you caused the destruction of your own camp."  
She scowled, baring her teeth like an animal. "What are you talking about?"  
"If you could have just offered the Romans the Parthenos, they might have accepted it and called off the war. But you made it a trap. A _trap,_ to lure them in and kill them. How cold-hearted can you be? Maybe–"  
"Let me stop you right there, di Angelo," Clarisse interrupted. Her eyes blazed, shining like the raging wildfires Nico had seen on news reports. "Key words: _might, maybe._ In war, there's no _might._ In battle, there's no _maybe._ It's either yes or no. Yes, one side wins. No, one side loses. If we offered that thing to them, _maybe_ they would've accepted. What if they didn't? They're attack us from an advantage, and we'd almost definitely lose. We have to have the upper hand in this. Tricking them is the only smart thing to do."  
"_No,_ Clarisse. The smart thing is to create peace, to avoid war at all costs. This isn't about defeating the Romans. You're forgetting the most important part–Gaea is waking. Her giants have risen. We can't defeat them alone, we _need_ the Romans' help. And you plan to annihilate them like that?"  
Clarisse parted her lips, but couldn't seem to think of a reply. She clenched her fist around her spear, the bronze tip twinkling in the soft morning light.  
"There's winning the battle, and there's winning the war, Clarisse. You do this, sure, we'll win the battle. But we'll lose the war. We won't have the power we need to kill the giants, let alone Gaea herself. We _have_ to have the Romans as our allies, alive. That's what the Parthenos was meant to do. It was meant to heal, not deceive. But it's... It's like your spear." He gestured lamely at her weapon, razor-sharp and ready to be put to use. "It's just an object until you wield it. And you can either wield it for the sake of good, or for the sake of evil."  
Clarisse hesitated for so long, Nico wondered whether or not she would respond. He watched Reyna and Rachel talk with Octavian. Rachel looked nervous, wringing her hands and shrinking up behind Reyna. Reyna continued speaking, and even though Nico couldn't hear her, he could see the cold determination in her eyes. The solid unwaveringness of her features, her smooth posture and relaxed grip on her sword. She looked so certain, so persistent, so... So _Reyna._ Over the past few weeks, she'd always seemed afraid or unsure, her eyes always shifting and muscles always tensing. Now that she was surrounded by her old comrades, negotiating something that would mean the difference between life or death, she was sharper, warier. More herself. For some reason, that calmed Nico. Gave him more courage, more certainty. Even the ridiculous urge to smile.  
"What do you know?" Clarisse finally muttered. "You're a child of Hades. The death god. The one shut out by the Olympians, sent to live in another realm. You're an outcast, a loser, always have been and always will be. You don't know anything about this!" She turned to him, her face alight with fury. "I'm the daughter of Ares, god of _war!_ I know everything there is to know about this! I've won many more fights than you have, beaten monsters and Titans alike, memorized battle strategy! You think you know war? You don't know a _thing._"  
Anger sparked inside Nico, like a branch snapping. He trembled, gritting his teeth and balling his fists, his nerves turning to fire. Words piled up in his mouth, spilling out of him all at once without any thought. With each sentence spoken, Nico felt a weight being lifted off him.  
"That's it. I'm sick and _tired_ of being treated like garbage everywhere I turn. I've tried running, I've tried hiding. I've tried pretending I'm someone else, or pretending I'm not anyone at all. After all, you're right–I am a son of Hades, the god of death, the outcast. The loser god, some might say. I don't fit in anywhere, not even in this era. I can't lead an army, or negotiate peace, or rescue a group of demigods from a hungry drakon. But you know what? I _am_ worth something. I can do more than you think, more than anyone gives me credit for." He was yelling now, and not just at Clarisse–at both the camps, at the people who'd mocked him, at the gods who'd disregarded him; at the world, the world that'd doubted him for so long and led him to doubt himself.  
"_I_ led the Seven of the Prophecy to Epirus. _I_ agreed to deliver the Athena Parthenos here, and I followed through. I'd endured monster attacks and even thwarted being sacrificed to Gaea along the way. I'd made the journey. I'd shadow-traveled halfway across the world, fended off enemies alongside Reyna and Coach Hedge, all to create peace." Nico had captured the attention of all of Camp Half-Blood now, and some of Camp Jupiter. He peered down the hill and noticed Reyna had stopped talking to Octavian, both of them turning to look at Nico, listening to him. He hesitated for a brief moment, wondering if it'd be a bad idea to continue–then the words continued to escape him, flowing out of his mouth without pause.  
"And now here I stand, on Half-Blood Hill, doing my best to prevent a war. I may be a child of Hades and not Zeus or Poseidon, or even Athena or Apollo. I do not know much strategy and I'm not the most useful in a fight. I don't even know _what_ I'm good for. But Hades knows all about death–and I sense there'll be a lot of it if the Greeks and Romans battle one another. I am _not_ trash, I am _not_ useless–I am Nico di Angelo, Son of Hades, god of the Underworld. And right now, I am trying to save your lives and defeat Gaea. So find common sense in yourselves and listen to me!"  
Time seemed to slow, as if Kronos were alive and working his magic on the world again. The campers froze, staring at Nico with gaping mouths and wide eyes, like his hair had caught on fire. Nico's senses sharpened–he heard the scrape of metal on metal, felt the shift in the air, saw the boy lift his bow and nock an arrow. Even from yards away, Nico could make out the vacant whiteness of the boy's eyes, and set of his jaw. The way he took aim and drew back the string sent a shiver down Nico's spine–as if there was enough time in the world to shoot. This was familiar to Nico–he'd seen it in the eyes of Leo Valdez when he fired on the Forum; eidolons.  
He took off down the hill, bounding as fast as his legs could carry him. Behind him, the campers shouted, raising their weapons and lifting their shields. The Romans did the same, preparing to fight. But Nico didn't plan to attack–not even close. He flew downhill, running on momentum and adrenaline, pumping his arms and feet. The eidolon squinted at the front line of the Roman army, obviously targeting someone specific. This made Nico run faster, his chest burning, blood roaring in his ears.  
The archer tugged the string one final time, white eyes locked on the girl with the purple cape.  
Nico willed his legs to move faster, his destination seeming miles away.  
The archer drew in a breath. Nico raced toward the Romans, disregarding their blades pointing directly at him.  
The arrow was released too early. He heard the whistle as it sliced through the air–there wasn't time to push her out of the way, to yell at her to move. So instead, he leapt in front of her, his limbs outstretched like a human shield.  
The world erupted around him as the arrow plunged into Nico's side.


	10. Chapter 10

The pain was sharp and fierce.  
The arrow bit into Nico's hip like a rabid animal, burying itself in the flesh just above his leg. Pain blossomed there, igniting like a match and spreading like a wildfire. A shrill scream sounded, and it must have come from his mouth, though he didn't remember it leaving his lips. The world seemed to explode, bursting into flames around him as he crumpled to the earth. The mindfulness flooded from him, and suddenly there was only the pain, and his frantic hands clutching at his side; and his eyes shifting in panic from the metal rod protruding from his skin to the blood pooling around him.  
The blood, dark and red, blooming around his body like a waking flower. The agony blazing in him, beating down furiously on his heart, melting his brain, tingling in his fingers and toes.  
The panic radiated through him. He bucked and flailed, writhing in his pool of blood and anguish, consciousness fading like the last streak of sunlight in a day. The armies surrounding him became unimportant–tiny inconveniences next to the dragon of fire snaking through his stomach. Nico hardly noted the series of reactions–the gasps that whispered to him, the screams and cries that echoed like the unfortunate souls of the Underworld. The way Octavian stared, his face ashen; Clarisse averting her eyes and pursing her lips. Reyna was at his side, pulling the shaft free from his body, tearing a portion of her cape and placing it to the gushing wound.  
And all the while Nico screamed, bucked, clutched at his injury. He didn't look in any particular direction, only capturing blurry images of the world around him. But he caught a glimpse of the arrow–the blood-coated, sharpened arrow–and noticed something: it wasn't made of Celestial bronze. It wasn't even metal at all. Instead, it was dirt. It was made of the same soil Nico lay bleeding on right now.  
With that discovery, Nico's vision faded, his mind shut down, and his soul flew–except it wasn't flying. It was falling. Falling and falling into dark, vast emptiness.

Nico's eyes fluttered open to white. He was lying–lying down on something soft and warm. His arms were crossed over his chest, fists closed at his heart. There was something in his chest–a feeling, like an orb of light floating and spreading brightness throughout him. It was a good feeling, an uplifting feeling. It was nice.  
Nico smiled. He must be dead. He must be on his way down to the Underworld, to Elysium maybe, to peace. Peace would be very much awesome.  
Then he shifted, arched his back slightly to get more comfortable for the trip. And he felt something, something that didn't belong after death–pain. An acute pain, sparking in his left side. The world slowly came into view, and Nico saw he was in the infirmary again, in bed, staring at the blank ceiling. Dang, he thought. It was good while it lasted.  
He propped himself up. Of course, bad idea–the agony twisted sharply, forcing a shriek through Nico's lips. It slithered into his stomach, churning his gut, prickling his organs. Not a pleasurable feeling.  
He groaned and lowered himself flat onto the mattress, and the pain slowly dissipated. He stared at the ceiling again, waiting, wondering–what happened after he collapsed? Well, that was easy: they brought him here and went back to business. But were they fighting? Battling one another at the very moment? Negotiating? Maybe–just _maybe_–Nico's sacrifice had changed their minds? Unlikely. He was still a loser. But the thought of more blood being shed, ripe and red, spilling onto Gaea's skin to help her wake... It was enough to send a fresh wave of nausea rippling through him.  
He sat up, concentrating his weak energy on neutralizing the fire inside him. Again, he was the only patient, which was enough to lift his spirits–no patients means no injured. Not yet, at least.  
Nico gazed at the window, though that told him nothing. Neither armies were in view, only the empty volleyball field and deserted dinner pavilion. It was a pretty depressing sight; normally the camp was so alive, so full of movement. Now it seemed abandoned.  
An image flashed through his mind, quick as lightning: the camp reduced to ashes, bodies strewn, smoke rising. Nico winced and fought it back, forced it into the deepest part of his mind, to deal with later. He had bigger problems right now than nightmares.  
With great reluctance, he lifted his shirt and tugged at the bandage wrapped snugly around his waist. He had to see the wound, survey it for himself, see the damage–as disturbing as it might be. He unwrapped it carefully, making sure not to rip the fabric, unfolding the material and setting it aside.  
One glance at the injury and Nico had to force down bile.  
It wasn't worse nor better than he'd expected–it was just what he'd predicted it'd be. But that didn't reduce the gruesomeness of it.  
A gaping hole tore through his abdomen, ending in a disgusting mess of broken tissue and muscle. The skin closest to the wound was a ring of congealed blood. The flesh around that was purple, blue and black–and the wound was swollen and throbbing. Just as Nico had anticipated. But he hadn't really prepared himself for the gore.  
Frantically grabbing the plastic bin at his tableside, he retched over it, gagging up stomach acid and bits of food. Then, breathing heavily, he set the bin down and proceeded to rewrap the bandages. He kept his eyes averted and tried to ignore the obvious fact that no one had bothered to clean the wound.  
Then he stood up.  
It was quite a challenge–his limbs were like lead and agony gnawed at his gut with every movement. But eventually, Nico got to his feet, and trudged to the door.  
Outside was just as eerie as before. Ashes of the bonfires crunched beneath his shoes as he walked, chilling him to the bone even in the summer heat. There was litter–Dixie cups once brimming with nectar, half-chewed tinfoil wrappers forgotten by satyrs–scattered across the ground. As ominous as this all felt, there was no noise–no metal clashing, no pain-stricken screams, no cries of war. They weren't battling. Not yet, at least.  
As relieved as that made Nico, it also pushed him into a jog. Despite the temporary peace, despite the anguish it brought him to run, the tension was bound to break. The rope was bound to snap. Sooner or later, bodies would fall and weapons would find blood.  
He had to get there before it happened. So he moved as quickly as the fiery snake resting in his stomach would let him. Past the empty strawberry fields, toward Thalia's tree, beyond the Big House and the cabins and the pavilion.  
And there were the two camps, Half-Blood atop one hill, Jupiter in the valley below, just as before. Reyna and Rachel argued with Octavian, just as before. Warriors clutching their weapons, awaiting orders, just as before. All just as before, as if Nico had never been fatally wounded.  
The thought made his heart clench... But then he noticed something. It _wasn't_ just as before. Not exactly. Reyna was pale-faced, body stiff and fists balled, eyes red-rimmed and misty. She wasn't angry or vengeful, nor grief-stricken or miserable. She looked simply disappointed, her lips moving smoothly, her eyes locked and determined. Octavian stood before her, same as before, his twig-like body wrapped in a toga, sword at his side, ready to be wielded. Except his eyes were no longer full of hate, and his mouth wasn't twisted into a sneer. Instead–and what a surprise this was–he seemed to be mourning; sad and regretful. Yet he was still arguing. What a godly sap.  
Rachel looked worried. Clarrise, curious. Dakota–well, he was still as frigid as an icicle. The other campers seemed the same, except for a few wondering eyes and sympathetic frowns. Other than that–same positions, same arguments, same situation. So Nico's heroics didn't really make a difference. The thought dropped his heart to his feet.  
Interrupting didn't seem that wise, but there was no time to reconsider.  
"Hey!" he called out, and all eyes turned to him. It was a look he'd seen before, every time he was shoved or taunted: pity. And he _despised_ it.  
Not like he could do anything about it, though. People will pity others. It's not the best feeling–to feel so weak and vulnerable–but it's human nature, instincts. Like sneezing, or whatever. So he started down the hill at a limp, wincing at every shock the contact to the ground sent up his leg. They watched him as he went, staring at him with their pity and curiosity and worry. Nico felt like he was a mouse that scientists had tested on–like they were waiting to see what awful things happened to him. Gods, it tempted him to raise the dead and give the campers a dozen skeletal-smacks.  
"Nico," Reyna said, stepping forward and resting her hand on Nico's shoulder. There was relief in her voice, though she was trying to hide it. "You shouldn't be out of the infirmary. You should be resting."  
"I should, but I won't. I refuse to nap while lives are at stake."  
Reyna frowned, but a smile twinkled in her eyes. It was a nice thing to see–a strong leader, but not so arrogant as to pretend not have emotions.  
"You're wounded. You can't–"  
"Yes, I can. My injury doesn't make a difference on whether or not I can help." He turned to face both camps. "You can't battle! Killing one another won't help anyone but Gaea!"  
"Nico is right," Reyna inputted. "We must form an alliance. It may be the only way to defeat the Earth Mother and her children."  
Octavian cut in. "The _Graecus's_ sacrifice was foolish and not well thought-out. But it was noble. And for that, I bow to him–dislike it as I do. The rest of his kind is yet to prove their trustworthiness."  
Nico was about to comment that he didn't have much time to think it out while the arrow was already flying, but Octavian's half-bow changed his mind. Besides, they had bigger problems than whether his sacrifice was smart or not.  
"There's no time to prove trustworthiness. We have to think–and act–fast. Gaea isn't an idiot. She obviously made that eidolon fire an arrow as a test. And another test is probably on its way. If we aren't ready for it, it could knock us over and trample us into demigod dust. Like it or not, we _have_ to trust each other. We don't have a choice."  
"I agree with Nico," said Reyna without hesitation, stepping up beside Nico. "Gaea will strike soon, with full force. Today might not be that day, but nonetheless, we have to be prepared for it. We have to work together, use each other's abilities to our advantage, cover up one's weaknesses with another's strengths."  
Reluctance settled over the camp. Everything was suspended, as if time was drawing in a breath. Preparing for something. Readying for action. The campers stood with jaws clenched, eyes uncertain, indecisive. Nico waited for an answer, for them to make up their minds. But he realized soon that they weren't thinking an answer; they were waiting.  
He looked at Reyna, and saw the same wariness in her expression as the rest of the demigods. Lips pressed into a line. Muscles taut. Eyes glittering with anticipation. The same look she'd worn before every battle they'd been in–expectance.  
Nico glanced around, searching for whatever had stilled everyone. But all around, there were only the rolling hills and towering trees. Nothing out the ordinary, aside from the hesitation in the air and the chill in Nico's bones. Like the feeling you get right before something is thrown at you. Watching the object being drawn back and propelled toward you.  
Then, like a bolt of lightning, time exhaled. The suspense shattered like rock crashing through glass as the earth rocked beneath them.  
Everyone stumbled to the right. Campers crashed into one another. Ranks clashed; skin collided with dirt. Nico tumbled into Reyna, sending them both kissing the ground. The recovery was quick, and soon enough, both camps stood side-by-side, weapons raised, shields brought forth. Another tremor galloped through the underground, though smaller compared to the first. Feet wobbled, but no one lost their balance.  
The world careened; the ground shifted and lurched, the skies spun wildly like a dreidel. Hills bucked like angry bulls. People toppled and pitched. Everything reeled from control.  
Once the earthquake settled, the soil between the Greeks and Romans cracked and split. A crevice hissed open, growing steadily into a crater, sinking deep below everything above and into nothingness. Smokey mist rose from the tear. A blood-red glow illuminated the bottom–somewhere far, far down. And something was climbing up. A large, fairly terrifying silhouette, working its way upward, unhurried.  
Nico stepped backward, gripping his sword fiercely and suddenly regretting disregarding another set of armor earlier.  
Without turning, he said in as calm a tone as he could muster, "Prepare to attack." There was no reply, but around him, campers lifted their weapons and stood in battle stance. When did everyone start listening to him, he wondered. Well, that's easy: since he became the armor-less chump standing feet away from the spooky hole.  
There was another pause as positions were assumed and the creature climbed. Then something–a shadow shrouded in dark fog–pulled itself out from the ravine, standing huge and fearsome before the demigods. Its energy was strong and terror-bringing–obviously a giant–but which one, Nico couldn't tell. Well, at least not until the thing announced it.  
_"Fear me!"_ it bellowed. "_I am the despair of travelers and thieves! The scourge of trade, the woe of trickery! I am Hippolytus, bane of Hermes and soon-to-be destroyer of Olympus!"_


End file.
